


Ren, tinged with malice

by antkidu



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Anal Play, Asphyxiation, Autofellatio, Blood and Violence, Bloodlust, Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Hisoka's Bungee Gum Nen Ability (Hunter X Hunter), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29890650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antkidu/pseuds/antkidu
Summary: Wing felt the Ren before he saw it, a malicious desire which settled on his shoulders, curled through his senses, wrapped around his insides. When he looked up, neck leaden with the force of it, he saw Hisoka, pupils wide like open mouths, teeth bared, surrounded by glowing tendrils of bloodlust.-or-Wing has always kept his desires to himself, indulged in private moments. Then, he comes across Hisoka Morow during a routine trip to the Heaven's Arena sauna.
Relationships: Hisoka/Wing
Comments: 13
Kudos: 24





	Ren, tinged with malice

Every once in a while, Assistant Master Wing enjoyed a trip to the sauna at Heaven’s Arena. The nature of his job meant that he had precious little time to himself, and he could only get away when Zushi was otherwise engaged. Thus, he always went in the last hour before closing so that he could be alone.

 _Finally, quiet,_ he would think, leaning his head back as hot gusts of steam swirled around his toes, nipped at his cheeks, coaxed beads of sweat from his pores. He would let his arms rest at his sides, laying his palms flat, and upturned on the bench. The towel over his lap would get damp and stick to the curves of his thighs, and with each wet breath, he would relax. 

Wing never removed his glasses. In fact, the fog over his vision, the hot kiss of the metal rim on his temples, and the pink crescent-moon on the bridge of his nose were part of his ritual. With his senses full of fog, the pulsing metal burn set off alarms in his fighter’s heart. It was unnatural to his body. It triggered Wing’s most private pleasure. Ren, tinged with malice: bloodlust.

It billowed from Wing’s slight frame, a thick purple, blending with the warm vapor. Wing enjoyed its pulse, the copper tang on his tongue, the competing force of threat and relaxation when his fists could not curl, his teeth could not bare. It was Wing’s scream into the pillow, his fist into the drywall, it hurt and pleased him at once. 

Concentrated and lingering long enough, the Ren could produce vivid hallucinations: twisted versions of people he knew, Heavens’ Arena fighters with lolling limbs, pink drool, rings around necks, handprints on thighs: things Wing would never invite into public with him, though he secretly reveled in the visions.

It was a poor state to be interrupted in.

“Why do you have your glasses on in the steam room?” 

Wing’s eyes were open, though he could not see a thing through his clouded lenses. He would still recognize the voice anywhere. No one else’s words dripped from the mouth quite so easily, like blood from a predator’s fang. 

“Are you here to stop me?” Wing was a mumbler. He could be loud, but his lips always seemed to stick together. The bloodlust made his voice a touch deeper, but it was still a light clip.

“That’s some nice Ren you have there.” 

“Ah,” Wing replied, swiping a thumb over a lens. Even in the face of Wing’s flowing black-flecked aura, Hisoka’s expression was neutral as ever. His yellow eyes were slightly narrowed under their heavy lids, his hair framed his face and curled around the base of his neck. 

He was naked, carved; the corner of his mouth was gently swollen and there was a large, still-red bruise on the left side of his chest. Wing’s lenses fogged up again, and Hisoka returned to being a redheaded smudge.

“Why don’t I ever see you on the floor?” 

“Oh…” Wing stretched his neck over each shoulder, rocking slightly and sighing. “I’m a bit clumsy. I’m not fond of experiencing pain…” He pushed his glasses further up his nose, wondering if Hisoka could see the tiny burn from where he was standing. “Mostly, fighting like that is not my taste…” 

“Really?” Cool disbelief. “But with a bloodlust like this…” The slither of his voice grew closer. In his mind’s eye, Wing could see Hisoka swiping at the energy, trying to hold it in his hands. Something about Hisoka’s cavalier attitude was getting a rise out of Wing; the other man was no better than a petulant student. 

“This is just how I relax…” Wing murmured, leaning his head back again, thickening his Ren so that it bled in tendrils, like watercolor paint. 

“Well,” Hisoka breathed out, placing a hand on his hip with a wet tap. “I’m just passing through, but maybe I’ll see you around.” 

Wing only lifted a few fingers in response, too lost in concentration now to process Hisoka’s words. The force of his Ren was crawling into his head, conjuring twisted versions of his surroundings: even as he walked away, Hisoka lingered in his mind’s-eye, became a curled, smokey figure with multiplying bruises, the blood at the corner of his mouth poured out in ropes. Wing exhaled, his knees parting as he slouched further into the bench. 

He was hard now, wet-mouthed, under the lapping tongue of bloodlust. He exhaled, letting himself twitch under the damp towel, keeping his hands flat against the wood of the bench. 

* * *

The next night, Wing fell asleep on his couch, halfway through a bottle of white wine. He was startled awake by insistent knocking, which was so loud and rapid that he thought it must be someone important. 

Still, he didn’t bother to put on any pants, and answered the door in only a wrinkled button-down and black boxers, cowlick prominent, and glasses askew. 

“Hullo…” he stammered, cracking the door, sniffing and frowning when he realized who it was. “Oh, it’s you.” 

Hisoka. He was grinning and glistening clean in a pink tunic, flowy black pants and slippers. Feathers of recently-washed hair brushed his eyebrows, and his skin was balmy with moisturizer. He wasn’t wearing his usual makeup, and the damage of yesterday’s fight only showed in small nicks, a dappled bruise winding from the corner of his mouth, around his jaw, down to the paper thin skin of his neck. Wing swallowed as his eyes drowsily traced the curves of his muscles, the slick taper of his waist. _It is you._

“I heard your student is still out of town,” Hisoka purred. “And I’m here to prove you’re a liar.” 

Even neatly showered, in swishy loungewear, Hisoka was dangerous, impossible to deny. Succumbing wordlessly, Wing stepped aside to allow Hisoka in. He sighed as the man passed, and tensed his thighs at an involuntary ache as visions from the previous night at the sauna rushed into his mind. The faint taste of blood cropped up at the back of his throat.

The suite Wing shared with Zushi had a spare living room, which sported only a gray loveseat and a wall-mounted television. A stack of CD-Rs sat on the floor against the wall: recorded fights which Wing had watched hundreds of times and memorized. All of Hisoka’s were among them, dutifully studied. 

Wing knew the way Hisoka moved, in arcs and dips, keeping his right foot grounded and his left light. He knew the years-old injury in his right shoulder, the recent one in his left hip flexor which tightened his roundhouse. He knew that fights aroused Hisoka, that he sometimes threaded his aura past the band of his pants, licking at himself as he spun and ducked, tongue caught in the seam of his lips.

Sometimes, as he watched Hisoka move, Wing would fixate on a shoulder blade, a tensed calf, tongue, lip; he’d stare until Hisoka was a quick blur; he’d release his own Ren, controlling the flow, letting it trickle tantalizingly over his belly, the sensitive skin around the base of his cock. 

He never touched himself, and the moment he heard a complaint from Zushi about the smell of bloodlust, he’d tuck it back in with prickles of shame. 

But, Zushi was gone, and Hisoka was more than just a recording. He was here, a slinking tiger surveying the space around him. Like the living room, Wing’s bedroom was gray and empty, save for a floor lamp, a mattress, and twelve stacks of books which nearly brushed the ceiling, blocking out the window. Hisoka looked bright and foreign, leaning into the shadowed doorway.

“It stinks in here,” Hisoka complained, perhaps examining the spines of the books. 

“Does it?” Wing felt itchy. He reached under his shirt to scratch his stomach. Hisoka’s back was wide, his tunic pulled taut over it. 

Wing could hear his own breath. He was suddenly excruciatingly aware of his bare legs, the lean, pathetic gatherings of muscles at his biceps, his knees; his slim wrists and ankles. He’d considered this before, but Hisoka could kill him, could snap him in half with the flick of a wrist. He sucked his cheeks and nudged his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose.

"Oh well,” Hisoka sighed. “No matter…” 

With a small noise in the back of his throat, Hisoka whirled around and lunged at Wing, who, without thinking, met him with a kick to the chest, twisted into a spinning hook as Hisoka danced back on the balls of his feet. 

Grinning, Hisoka bent at the waist, so low that the underside of Wing’s calf only brushed the tip of his nose. In a bridge, Hisoka’s palms bounced against the floor, and his hips jutted upward; the point of bone made Wing’s breath stutter.

Hisoka pushed himself upright with a peel of laughter. “Don’t like fighting, huh?” 

“Instinct,” Wing replied, catching his breath. His face felt feverish for some reason; his fingers tingled. 

Hisoka went for the legs next, dashing forward like a Greyhound, but Wing jumped over him, knees-to-chest, his knuckles tapping against the low ceiling. He landed in a crouch and had to fold backward to avoid Hisoka’s next series of quick jabs. _He’s just playing, though…_ Wing thought. 

“Why no Nen?” Wing bit out, elbows on the ground. He realized he was pleading.

“Foreplay,” Hisoka purred, dropping to his knees and shuffling forward. 

Wing hissed, surged up and swung at Hisoka’s cheek just fast enough to catch him with a crack. Hisoka threw his head back and groaned. 

Wing froze. Arousal unfurled in his belly, fiercer than he’d ever felt it. And, with it, horror.

Hisoka took his advantage, jumping back and hitting Wing with a hard uppercut, which knocked his teeth together, filled his mouth with blood. Eyebrows knit, Wing swallowed a moan and tried to focus on culling the fear which flickered in his chest, hoping it would bring him back to his senses.

Hisoka chuckled, rose to his heels and then his full height.

Wing felt the Ren before he saw it, a malicious desire which settled on his shoulders, curled through his senses, wrapped around his insides. When he looked up, neck leaden with the force of it, he saw Hisoka, pupils wide like open mouths, teeth bared, surrounded by glowing tendrils of bloodlust. 

“Oh,” Wing whispered, scuttling back a few paces as the blood from his lip dripped onto his shirt. 

“What’s that face?” Hisoka’s voice was dripping from his grin. He stepped forward as Wing scrambled to his knees, heart pounding. He knew Hisoka’s aura could burn him, could even kill him, if he didn’t activate his own. _But if I..._

Hisoka advanced, and Wing cursed as he was forced to release his aura, and then sighed at the shockwaves of pleasure that rippled through his body. It blinded him for a moment, licked over him, a burning need. He jumped to a stand, hands balled into fists. 

Hisoka’s Ren sparked against Wing’s, and he reached forward. Wing braced for an attack, prepared to strike, but Hisoka only ran his fingertips along Wing’s cheek, pressing into a forming bruise. “Master Wing…” he said, in a tone like silk. 

Wing was transfixed; he had never felt someone’s aura like this — one that craved violence, pain, to inflict and experience.

Hisoka’s hand still against his cheek, one of Wing’s lenses cracked with a small pop, and Hisoka’s face fractured before him. As his own Ren crept into his mind, he saw Hisoka covered in cuts, oozing and dripping, bruises wrapping around straining muscles, and— _and_

“Hit me,” Wing murmured, sliding his glasses off and dropping them on the floor. He could scarcely see, but it didn’t matter now. 

“Hit you how?” Hisoka’s breath, warm on the crown of his head. 

With a surge of annoyance, Wing jolted forward, driving a fistful of Ren into Hisoka’s chest. He imagined the skin shredding, bursting into ribbons, but it wasn’t so.

Hisoka only slid back, grabbed at Wing’s hips to stabilize himself, and Wing yelped as a warm lick of pain traveled over his skin, climbed up his belly, dug into his jaw like sharp fingers. The feeling made him squirm; he imagined Hisoka’s smile growing wider, wider, grotesque and monstrous. _Ah._

Wing sighed again; he could no longer stop himself, couldn’t cool the heat. He felt himself stiffen. 

“Oh, Master Wing,” Hisoka sang, though his voice was weighed down with lust. “Oh, I knew you were a liar.” 

No sooner had he spoken, Hisoka snapped away his aura and slapped Wing in the face so hard he lost his balance. Wing’s blood splattered onto the floor and he fell into one of his knees, feeling pinpricks of wet against his bare skin. Laughing darkly, Hisoka went down with him, hand still gripping his face where he’d slapped, pressing into the sting. 

Wing’s vision was blurry, amorphous; pain radiated from his cheek, from his burnt hips; Ren weighed down his limbs. _Hisoka won’t get the best of me…_

With a cry, he jerked forward, gathered his aura and drove his knee into Hisoka’s solar plexus. 

_Fuck._ The ragged gasps Hisoka made as he tumbled only made Wing strain harder against the fabric of his briefs. _Maybe he will._ Wing palmed his erection, pulled it flat against his stomach, watching breathlessly as Hisoka’s blurry form toppled onto the linoleum. 

Wing was on top of Hisoka in seconds. The bloodlust was roaring, flooding out all rational thought. Frowning and grinding down, he hummed as his ass spread over Hisoka’s aura-soaked crotch, stinging as he moved back and forth over Hisoka’s hardening length. Hisoka’s gasps broke into moans and curses. 

“Shut up,” Wing half-choked, clapping his hand over Hisoka’s mouth. In response, Hisoka gave a throaty laugh and canted his hips, rucking the fabric of Wing’s shorts; Wing bit his lip and squirmed at the tension against his entrance. He could feel Hisoka’s breath damp on his palm, could hear the moans he was catching in his throat. 

Wing let his eyes flutter shut, let Hisoka continue to rub up against him, let himself grow harder and harder, as Ren visions lit his thoughts— all he could see now, though, was Hisoka. Hisoka, bloodied and vicious, with his hands around Wing’s neck, his hands around— Wing stopped moving, swallowed hard and caught his breath.

“Touch me, Hisoka,” Wing said, surprising himself at the volume, the confidence in his voice. Hisoka’s name on his lips sent a tingle of pleasure through him, and it escaped half-moaned. 

He cracked an eye open, pressed his other hand over Hisoka’s mouth so that any smart-assed response Hisoka could muster would emerge strangled. But Hisoka didn’t make fun, didn’t try. His eyes only widened as Wing pulled at the band of his boxers, exposing himself. He was pink, he knew, disgustingly aroused, possibly leaking. 

With one fluid movement, Hisoka slid out from under Wing and knocked him off balance. Wing gasped as he hit the floor again, caught himself with flat hands. Now bending over him, Hisoka wiggled his fingers and conjured up a bit of pink aura at the tips. 

“Ah, Master Wing,” his eyes traveled up and down Wing’s body, sparking deviously. “I have a better idea.”

Before Wing could move out of his way, Hisoka tossed three ropes of his Bungee Gum and wrapped them around Wing’s neck, his bicep flexing gratuitously as he pulled the strings taut.

Wing’s vision went gray in the corners as his airway tightened, and he fell slack against the floor. Hisoka laughed, and drew closer. 

“You’re farsighted, right, Master Wing? You can see me like this?” 

He loosened the Bungee Gum long enough for Wing to swallow, choke out a, “Yes.” 

“Good.” With a satisfied grunt, Hisoka used his free forearm to push Wing’s thighs back so that his knees hit the ground on either side of his head. Then, smiling wider, he pressed his lips to Wing’s shaft.

Wing’s chest burned; he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t make noise, could only watch as Hisoka’s face came in and out of focus, his lips parting, his tongue slipping up Wing’s length. With a flick of his fingers, Hisoka pulsed Wing’s restraint, allowing an eak of breath, a pop of hot pleasure to expand in Wing’s lungs. Then he tightened it again, and he made eye contact as Wing gasped, breathless.

Holding Wing’s gaze, Hisoka spit on the tip, saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth as he tongued Wing’s slit, pressing in just enough to send a tendril of pain to the base. Wing keened, his hips trembled; Hisoka let him inhale and in the same moment, took him fully into his mouth. Pleasure flooded Wing’s body and he let out a desperate cry in the moments before he was strangled again. 

Hisoka’s throat was tight and humming around him; he was lightheaded, vision doubling. Every sensation was dull as he begged for breath, struggled to keep his eyes focused on Hisoka, on his lips, the glisten of his teeth and tongue as he licked and bobbed. 

But when Hisoka eased his Bungee Gum, shocks of pain and pleasure would burst in Wing’s head, all through his body, like he was being lit on fire. Hisoka repeated the process again and again, sucking hard, until tears were clouding his golden eyes, and Wing was trembling and sweaty, sacrificing his precious breaths with ragged screams. 

And then, Wing started to feel pressure against his entrance, and realized that Hisoka had surrounded him in aura, reached inside of him with it. It was warm, spreading him open with gentle pulses as Hisoka continued teasing his slit, the rim of his head, with devious flicks of his tongue. 

Hisoka’s eyes were red, his hair was plastered to his forehead. He released the aura around Wing’s neck and Wing shuddered, crying out Hisoka’s name as Hisoka used both hands to brace Wing’s ass, pulling him further apart and increasing the flow. 

“How do you feel, Master Wing?” Hisoka breathed.

Wing swallowed, watching himself being spread open by the viscous aura. His cock dripped onto his chest. 

“G-good,” Wing stammered. His voice was hoarse from being choked. His mind was hazy, flooded with Nen, desire. He was folded in half, over himself, calves balanced on Hisoka’s shoulders. Completely vulnerable. 

“Why don’t you make yourself come, hmm? I want to see.” Hisoka leaned back and lifted Wing’s hips from the ground, pushing him down until the tip of Wing’s cock was brushing his own lips. 

“Go on,” Hisoka goaded. He groaned and pushed a bit more aura. Wing cursed, as tears gathered in his eyes. It hurt, burned, but he wanted more. 

Eyes locked in Hisoka’s, Wing’s mouth fell open. He shuddered as he lapped at his own tip. 

“Yes, good,” Hisoka said warmly, beginning to pulse his aura faster and deeper inside. Wing whined Hisoka’s name, licking at himself desperately, straining his neck to try and get a better hold. 

Grinning, Hisoka put his weight on the backs of Wing’s thighs, making his muscles scream with overextension as he sent Wing’s cock further into his mouth. 

_It’s too much,_ Wing thought, gagging and moaning as his orgasm began to spark. Hisoka let him rock back, so that his cock hovered above his face, and he caught Hisoka’s gaze as his ears began to ring at the force of the pleasure tearing through him. He bit his lip and cried as come pooled on his tongue, dripped down his chin onto the floor. Hisoka withdrew, and Wing could only whimper as a final thick ribbon fell onto his cheek. 

Once he was emptied, a shaking, blinking mess, Hisoka finally let Wing fall flat, and pulled himself into Zetsu. All Wing could manage was a wobbly smile as he realized he was still half-dressed, that, save for the sweat on his brow, Hisoka was basically untouched— hadn’t even taken off his slippers. 

Hisoka stood up, stretched and yawned. “That was fun,” he said, turning to eye the stack of CD-Rs and the half-empty bottle of wine, before gazing down at his prone companion. Wing pushed himself to a seat, blushing furiously as he pulled at his collar to use as a napkin. 

“Oh!” Hisoka squawked, flying to Wing’s side and slapping his hand away. “Don’t do _that_.”

Wing blinked at him, at a loss for words. 

Hisoka’s eyes softened, and he produced a red handkerchief from his pants pocket, wiping Wing’s face. “You have the nicest bloodlust I’ve ever seen,” he said as he cleaned. “It’s almost… relaxing.” 

“Yours hurts,” Wing murmured, still cowed by the fact that, moments ago, that very aura had been inside of him.

Hisoka chuckled, balling up the rag in his hand. 

“You are adorable,” he whispered. “And your apartment is horrid. Care to spend the night in mine? I’ve ordered far too much dinner.” 

Wing blinked again, disarmed by the gentleness of Hisoka’s tone, the glimmer of hope in his face. 

“Sure,” he replied, mind suddenly turning over and over what had just happened between them. “I, um,” he felt his blush grow deeper. “Thank you for—” he bit down on his lip and then winced at the pain. He’d almost forgotten how many times he’d been struck in the face. 

“No need to thank me,” Hisoka twisted and plucked something from the ground. 

_My glasses._ Wing pressed his palms to his face, mortified anew at the memory of how brazenly he’d thrown them to the ground. Peeking between his fingers, he saw Hisoka stroke across the cracked lens with his thumb, and then hold them up, good as new. 

“Texture surprise…” Wing realized, with a flicker of excitement. He’d seen Hisoka use it countless times in battle, but never on something so mundane. 

Hisoka froze, his cheeks flushed, his mouth forming a surprised little ‘o.’ “You… know the name of my Hatsu?” He looked at Wing with raised eyebrows. 

“Well, of course,” Wing stuttered, taking his glasses from Hisoka’s limp hands. “I know Bungee Gum too, which, ah…” he laughed nervously. “I mean, it’s very versatile…” 

“ _Well,”_ Hisoka replied, raising to a stand and putting out a hand to help Wing up. “I’m flattered. Shall we go?” He was no longer the prowling monster he’d been in the sauna, or the devious lover from moments ago. This Hisoka seemed taken aback, almost awkward. 

“I, um,” Wing glanced down at himself. “I have to put on pants first.” 

“Oh,” Hisoka went redder. “Yes. By all means.” 

Wing swallowed, and courage bubbled in his chest as he reached and closed a hand around Hisoka’s shoulder, pressing his mouth to Hisoka’s lips. Hisoka drew away at once, shocked, and Wing’s heart sank. 

But then, Hisoka smiled, leaned down and kissed Wing again, opening his mouth and moving his lips softly. It was nothing like what he’d done before; there was no hint of roughness. He traveled from Wing’s mouth, kissing up his cheek to the corners of his eye, which was still sticky with tears. The kisses stung, but they made Wing’s heart flutter. When Hisoka pulled back, he looked a little bit awestruck. 

Wing cleared his throat, found his courage, thought of Hisoka’s weak spots, which he’d all but forgotten. There was so much he could do. “I hope you know, I intend to return the favor.” 

* * *

  
  
Every once in a while, Assistant Master Wing enjoyed a trip to the sauna at Heaven’s Arena. The nature of his job meant that he had precious little time to himself, and he could only get away when Zushi was otherwise engaged. 

Thus, Wing always went to the sauna in the last hour before closing. However, he no longer went alone. And now, Wing always removed his glasses, because he had other ways to indulge his most private desires.

**Author's Note:**

> everday i draw further and further away from the loving embrace of jesus christ
> 
> thank u for reading! follow me on twt: @antkidu


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